Mike didn't sleep that night. He had gotten frustrated with his cast and got a fair amount of Pidgey blood on himself trying to clean the bird, and with the added worry, regret, and guilt that the day had brought, he was too worked up to sleep. Kaitlyn and Rodger had just stared at him squeamishly as he bled, stripped, gutted, and prepared the bird. They, however, picked it clean. Caito had gone an brought back two or three more, Mike hadn't bothered to keep track. He didn't have to cook these, as the rest of the Pokémon either scrounged around for their own particular food or ate the birds raw.

Mike quietly stoked the fire for hours. Rodger passed out relatively quickly, curled around his Dratini and snoring softly. Kaitlyn had tried to force some conversation from the Champion, but he wasn't having any of it. She gave up shortly after Rodger and tried to sleep, but her Poliwag wanted to sleep next to her.

"No, Dewey," she hissed, pushing him away with the tips of her fingers, "you're too slimy."

"Oh, cuddle the d-damn thing," Mike called, reaching over a hand to his own Poliwag and scooping him up. There was something powerfully therapeutic about being able to hold a pokémon in his hands. He realized that he hadn't held one of the little monsters in his arms for a very long time. He had evolved Caito too quickly to have any bonding with it - which, in hindsight, was a bad idea, as premature evolution usually made the pokémon less smart than properly evolved specimens - and it had been ages since the rest of his team were small enough to hold. And Farran had always been wicked heavy. To have the slimy, smiley tadpole tucked in to the crook of his arm immediately began to ease away his stress.

"I don't know how you handle that," Kaitlyn commented, ignoring the jealous cooing of her own Poliwag, "they can just be so gross sometimes."

"… Pokémon?" The idea that pokémon were gross was almost appalling to Mike.

"Just the slimy ones," she gave Dewey another prod, "or the poisonous ones. Don't give me that look, would you cuddle a Muk?"

"N-no, because the p-Pokédex is actually right ab- about that one."

"Wait, what do you mean by that?"

Mike gave a sigh and adjusted his position a little better, Mac snuggling in to his arm with a soft gurgle. "The Pokedex that st-standard trainers get can be edited b-by anyone, and the most popular edit is usually what sh-shows up. Each r-r-region is a bit different, and many of the entries are rumors. The Pokedex, of c-course, holds true info on s-species you own, and is an invaluable tool with l-lots of neat apps, but the public encyclopedia bit is kinda s-silly. Hit-and-miss at best."

"So, you mean…" Kait mulled over this information for a moment, trying to find an example. Her eyes wandered over to the Ninetales snoring gently in to the fire, and she found it, "Ninetales aren't incredibly intelligent and magical?"

"Caito isn't qu-quite so bright because I evolved him r-really early," Mike explained, "but his species isn't sagely or anything. The tail-pulling thing has some truth to it, though: it drives them insane. They unl-leash everything on whoever is dumb enough to d-do it."

"... What about Gyarados?"

"False, but great cautionary information. Gyarados can be taken d-down by a decent lightning strike, but they're still f-fierce. They may have destroyed a few villages made of p-paper doors and dry wood in ancient J-Japan, but nowadays Gyarados can be neutralized quickly."

"And what about Aggron? Aren't they territorial and just big tree-planting sissies?" She gave Mike a winning grin that he couldn't help but return.

"Want to ask him that?" Kaitlyn giggled as Mike pulled out Farran's dented Pokéball. After a momentary silent smirk, he answered the question, "completely true. Farran's claimed the cliff that the ch-champion's bungalow is on all for himself, and plants loads of trees from all over Hoenn there. It's actually k-kinda cool, but not all Aggron do that. Usually only after a d-disaster. And they only mercilessly pummel obvious threats to their lands, l-like reckless humans and other Aggron. And even at that, they give fair warning."

"So are you, like, a guru or something like that?" She gave him a curious once-over: slimy, bloody, injured, yet completely content.

"I'm a three-time Champion. You tell me." They shared a grin, and for a split second, Mike felt his worries wash away. He was right: He was a Champion. And, though not the most humble thing to admit, he was a bit of a guru. His knowledge of Pokémon was rather fantastic, though limited by the native species to his region. And her smile was almost like a cherry on top. Deep in Mike's chest, a heartstring was tugged. It had been a while since a girl had smiled at him sincerely.

Within a few minutes of the ensuing silence, however, Mike was back to his usual, quiet, broody self. Worries, guilt, and depression resumed the weathering of his very being. Wave after wave of fresh, hormone-fueled feelings battered at him for what seemed like an eternity before something broke his silence. When Mike had confirmed that it was Mac's stomach grumbling in his sleep, he briefly returned to his woes. A belch brought him back out of it.

"Pokémon are disgusting," Kaitlyn mumbled from her odd position against the log.

Rodger farted a few minutes later, and Kaitlyn's groan of anger brought a chuckle to Mike's lips.

"Dear Arceus, I hardly slept." Mike raised a brow at Roger's complaint. If anyone had slept, it had been the ten-year-old. Not a care in the world, not even a call to his good Uncle Lance. Pokémon safe and himself blissfully ignorant of the pain the robbing had brought. Mike was the one that should be complaining. More than half of his team were either missing, being babysat, or stolen. That, and when Mike had began to prep coffee and let Farran out for some air, the glutton had gobbled up his kettle. The pot he was using now was just fine for boiling water, but Farran had still been disciplined.

"At least you aren't running gassers!" Farran huffed his way back to the campsite, touching his hand to a line drawn in the dirt before turning and thumping back towards a tree in the distance.

"Gassers?" Kaitlyn asked with a grin.

"He runs to the t-tree and touches the roots," Mike explained, "then runs back and touches this line. He d-does that twice, and that's one gasser."

"Brutal."

"You could stand to do a few of those." Kaitlyn shot Rodger a dirty look as Mike sunk his head in to his collar. "What? It's true. I mean, you're almost popping out of those pants, muffin top."

"Ex-cuse me?" Kait rounded on Rodger and had him in a headlock before he could react. Dewey gurgled with delight as the Dratini began to make noises of worry. They only scuffled for a short amount of time before there was the 'snap' of a poor teleport, and two very tired Pokémon fell to the ground. Mike turned to face the new arrivals with hope, but the fact that there were only two of them didn't raise much of it. They were both exhausted, but thankfully not injured, and the Breloom was even lively enough to hop off after Farran and ask for the translator.

"Anything?" Mike asked. The Grumpig was clearly irate. Goomba's voice crackled to life behind them, and was equally agitated.

"He disappeared, we talked to the same officer and he acted like it never happened." The mushroom Pokémon hopped back over, pressing the translator to his throat and forcing himself to speak, "I saw some of them smirk as we left."

"They were Rockets, all right," Babe filled in, "but most of them picked up when I tried to make a connection. Not the entire town, but just enough to make that man vanish. Chief of Police, mainly."

"That doesn't even make sense," Rodger commented, "that's, like, Saturday-morning-cartoon villainy. A guy doesn't just disappear!"

"A Rocket that was recently arrested for a high-profile crime that was turned in to a crooked chief of police might, however," the Grumpig growled, "also, who was previously Gym Leader of that quaint little burgh?"

"Giovanni," Kaitlyn commented, the pieces having long since fallen in to place for her. Rodger, too, began to connect the dots.

"And you think a n-notorious crime lord would live in a t-t-town with an efficient police force?" Mike's point put complete silence to any arguments Rodger may have had. "It just means I h-have to get there quicker. I m-may not be Kanto's ch-ch-Champion, but I'm still a government official."

"Technically," Rodger pointed out.

"And you're technically a huge jerk," Kaitlyn snipped, "which is odd considering how tiny you are."

And so their day continued in this fashion. Mike returned Farran and Caito, allowed Mac to roam, and kept Goomba and Babe close by his side. Rodger would make fun of Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn would make fun of Rodger, and Mike would simply watch and try to glean any sort of information he could about their training styles whenever their pokémon were near.

Rodger took a much more active approach, commanding his Dratini as if he had been training with it for years. Mike had no doubts that he had been doing so. But the Dratini was just as direct as its trainer: There were no grand strategies or evasive tactics for the few moves that slipped passed his obviously well-trained starter. The hits simply landed and the Dratini would shrug it off and blast the poor critter away with a lightning bolt or a sweep of its tail. Mike wasn't a teacher yet, but he already had a feeling that Rodger would be both a powerful trainer and incredibly hard to re-train. If being direct had worked for his life this far, he would think it would work for everything.

Kaitlyn, however, was very indirect. Almost to a point of ignorance. Dewey was often left on his own in fights, besides Kaitlyn's excited chatter if he was winning or slight scolding if he was losing. "The one with the bubbles!" became a token call for 'Bubble', and, "slap 'em!" was a codeword for what Mike could assume was 'Double-Slap'. He had to chuckle at her half-hearted attempts at strategy, but she was still doing more in that department than Rodger was doing. She ordered dodges and tricky movements very frequently, even going as far as ironing out an 'Oil Slick' attack involving a bubble-generated slide and a quick slap in to the mud. Though she still wasn't touching him much. Mike was afraid that the lack of contact would stunt him somehow, but the tadpole was content for now.

They set up camp some hours later, everyone being completely exhausted, but somewhat excited by the amount of ground they had covered in a day and a half. From their hilltop campsite, they could see the small Viridian City. Mike, however, could only see the barren nest of a scorned mafioso.

"Is anyone's phone charged?" Mike snapped his dead phone shut with a tinge of irritation. Besides a purposefully ignored text from Bertha, he had been gleefully uninterrupted. Usually, vacant Champions had swarms of challengers attempting to force an easy win by absentee forfeiture. They didn't know that Babe was now a multiple-thousand-mile teleporting machine, but they did seem to be scared off by his anger management issues.

"On the verge of death," Kaitlyn sighed as she hammered away a text to a friend of hers, or so Mike guessed, "ask pea-brain."

"Uncle Lance said it's only for emergencies," Rodger pulled a Pokégear from his pocket, "and it only has his number in it."

"That's actually what I n-need," Mike took the device from Rodger when he offered it, pulled up Lance's number, and hit 'CALL'. It rang for a few moments before an oddly warm voice filled his ear.

"I knew it was only for emergencies, but it's good to see you do care a bit-" Mike cut Lance off before he could proceed any further.

"This is Mike, did any news make it to you?" There was a pause before Lance answered.

"What have you done to my nephew," the cold question came off more as a statement, but Mike was unperturbed.

"Saved him from an attempted mugging and turned the Rocket in to the Viridian City authorities," Mike's underlying anger mixed with a sudden contempt for the Kanto Champion quite well: his voice was smoother than marble. "You heard nothing?"

"Apparently not," Lance sighed, "is he alright?"

"He's fine, but I'm short a member." Farran laughed, though the phrasing was lost on the rest of the camp.

"You had a Pokémon stolen?" Mike moved himself away from the campsite slightly, leaving Farran to prepare the various small game he had rustled up before he continued.

"My Magneton. He said that his weird purple Pokéball was his starter, and slipped me his actual Rocket companion."

"Did it have a little 'M' on it?"

"… Yes, actually, is that bad?"

"Very. It was a Master Ball, I'm not at all surprised you didn't recognize it. They're incredibly rare and illegally engineered to capture any Pokémon, any time, without fail. Silph produced them in incredibly limited qualities, but the Rockets and the Silph Company have always been close friends."

"So, the Rocket guy with the Master Ball," Mike returned to the subject, "I had Babe transport him to the closest Police Office."

"And you turned him in to probably the most relaxed police agency in the region," another rush of static, "you knew that Giovanni used Viridian Gym as his safe-house, correct?"

"As well as the Celadon Game Corner, Silph Company Head-Quarters, wasn't there a department store in Johto or something?"

"Not enjoying your tone, very un-champion-like."

"I'm sorry, I just had a Pokémon stolen and assumed that you would be able to do something besides-."

"Well, what do you want me to do? You're the one growing out his brass balls here. I half-expected vigilante justice to be your follow-up to 'I had my Pokémon stolen' and not you calling me- When did this even happen?"

"Yesterday evening."

"A full day later? He could very literally be anywhere right now. Probably being lauded as a hero for stealing a-"

"I get it," Mike growled, "It's day two and I'm already coping with enough as it is. I don't need to be personally attacked for my decisions, I'm doing enough of that to myself already. I need help."

"I told you not to come to Kanto," Lance replied evenly, "that was my help to you."

"If you want vigilante justice, I am more than capable," Mike felt a rush well up inside of him at the sheer darkness of his tone. Farran looked up from the bloody, poorly-prepared Pidgey corpse, blood dripping from his claws, and the Champion's adrenaline gave another surge.

"This is my region, and I will not have you running around maiming every suspicious person you see," Lance was slowly beginning to lose his cool at Mike's insubordination, "I will personally investigate this first thing in the morning. You are over-extending yourself and your power. And let me inform you, simply because your Pokémon are clever enough to fight on their own - and yes, your Pokémon are brilliant, I will give you that - doesn't make you the strongest, or the smartest, and it certainly does not make you the reigning authority of the Kanto region." Lance took a breath, obviously waiting for a response from Mike, but it never came. With another sigh, he continued with much more control, "I love that you are coming out of your little shell, and I am not trying to stifle your growth in the right direction as you stumble awkwardly through the hormonal and emotional problems of puberty, but you are a guest in my region. I will investigate this tomorrow. If you are in the city then, I will let you know anything I can find out. I'm a strong trainer, but I've hardly got any power to change how our law enforcement operates. Or how it doesn't. Maybe your little loss will finally open up some eyes."

"Not the headlines again," Mike finally spoke, though it was with a groan.

"Yes, the headlines again. Nice punch, by the way. Very clean." Mike had no idea how to feel about that comment, but Lance had already continued, "do not be the hero, Mike. The Rockets are on the defensive. They may be above killing a ten-year-old boy, but you look a lot more like an adult, and they have no qualms with that. Now, may I talk to my nephew?"

"Yes, sir," Mike returned to the camp, handing the Pokégear to Rodger, who gleefully accepted it. "Would you get that bird on a spit already?" Farran fumbled with a long stick as Mike barked at him, but Kaitlyn was completely unfazed. Curious, even.

"Do you just choose when to stutter, or something?" Mike felt blood rush in to his cheeks as he turned to face the young trainer. She was kind-of right. No stuttering, once again. Mike fumbled for an answer for a moment, making a few awkward noises before his team leader came to what could only be called his 'rescue'.

"I actually got him figured out," the Aggron called as he placed the skewered bird over the campfire, "he's a nervous wreck except for, like, three things: talking to Pokémon, talking when angry, and talking to Pokémon Trainers while he's defending himself."

"Basically, only when it actually matters to him." Everyone turned to look at who had issued that comment. Babe gave an indignant short and returned to his odd dancing, the spitted Pidgey rotating slowly as he did. The realization hit Mike a lot harder than he thought it would have, even if it had been… A compliment about being selectively eloquent? An insult about not knowing what really mattered? The ideas spun wildly in the Champion's head as he slumped back against one of the rocks that had been dragged to the campsite. Rodger, who had been yammering to Lance for some time now, finally hung up the phone to find the atmosphere of the camp had radically changed. Kaitlyn had been planted awkwardly in her spot, her question answered but still left speechless. Caito snuck over next to Mike, pressing his nose under Mike's hand. Babe danced methodically as Goomba glared at him in contempt, and the Poliwag were withdrawn for the night after a long day.

"Why don't you quit moping and just go catch another one?" Rodger's incorrect assumption triggered another radical mood swing in Mike.

"Remind me to break your nose when you turn eighteen."